


Make Way for the Raven King

by JennaTalbot



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: (but im not really that sorry), Gansey is a Prince, Gen, Minor Canon character death, Royalty AU, everyone sort of makes an appearance but it focuses on the gangsey, the problem is my obsession with ronsey and im sorry, the romance is very minor i just have a problem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaTalbot/pseuds/JennaTalbot
Summary: Young Prince Gansey has been marked for death. He is ready to accept his fate, but his friends around the kingdom don't share that same acceptance. Will they find a way to save the heir to the throne? With the threat of war on their doorstep, will they have a chance to try?A Raven Cycle royalty retelling.





	1. Chapter 1

_ Depending on where you began the story, it was a story about a normal girl. _

 

The only extraordinary thing about Blue Sargent was that she was completely ordinary. 

She was smaller than average, but not exceptionally so. Her dark, curly hair was unruly, but not out of place among her people. She had a temper, but it wasn’t any worse than that of the women she lived with. She couldn’t make a good tea, but her mother was always experimenting with nearly unpalatable concoctions.  

Blue Sargent was entirely unremarkable save for one small detail.

In her village of psychics, she was the only one who lacked the Gift.

—  — — 

“Blue!”

Blue sighed, closing the page on the book she was reading. Deciding that she had wasted enough time, she climbed down from the beech tree and made her way to the house, bracing herself for the utter chaos that reigned over Fox Way.

“Duck!” Her cousin Orla called as Blue entered the curtained doorway. Out of instinct, Blue ducked down, and a spellbook flew over her head, close enough that she felt her hair move as it passed. Straightening up, she sighed.

Blue continued through another low doorway, stepped over a black cat she didn’t remember seeing before, and dodged two arguing women, finally making her way to the front room where her mother was waiting for her.

The woman was the spitting image of Blue, despite being a head taller. When she thought no one was looking, Maura’s face reflected the weariness that came with the burden of her Gift, but she never let it show around others. Especially Blue. 

“Sorry,” Blue said by way of explanation.

She knew her mother had been waiting for her, but Blue was always reluctant to help with St. Mark’s Day chores. It wasn’t the morbidity of the task—on St. Mark’s Day, the spirits of those who would die that year crossed the hallowed grounds of the unnamed church near Fox Way. It was the one day a year that being a psychic wasn’t seen as a curse, at least until the names got out. 

No, it was how painfully  _ ordinary _ Blue felt on St. Mark’s Day. The other women of Fox Way were all preparing for the dead: preparing the ingredients they would need for the inevitable wave of friends and families of the to-be-deceased, or even worse, the victims themselves. 

Each year, Maura traveled to the church to use her Gift to see the spirits and make a list, which was posted in the town square as tradition demanded. The results of that list would determine how easy life in Fox Way would be for the rest of the year.

It quickly became clear that Maura was more efficient if she had someone else with her to take down the names. And since Blue was the only one who had nothing more useful to offer on St. Mark’s Day, the task fell to her.

While her family and the other Psychics in their kingdom of Cabeswater were busy preparing for the dead and the mournful living that came with the sacred day, Blue was left playing scribe. She tried to console herself with the fact that it meant she had been taught to read and write, a rare thing in their kingdom, and even more rare for women.

Marua sighed. “Blue, I know—”

Blue cut her off. “Let’s just go.” 

She picked up her bag with parchment and quill at the ready, and stomped out the door. After a brief pause, Maura followed. 

The walk to the church was silent, the worn dirt path familiar beneath their feet. The air still held a hint of a winter chill, even though they were well into April now. The dead had that effect on the world. 

When they reached the small churchyard, Blue took a moment to marvel at the scenery. The church wasn’t that old, but the parade of the dead who traveled through every year had caused it to be abandoned quickly by the more superstitious, and the rest of the congregation soon followed.

Nature didn’t wait long, and the yard was already overgrown with weeds, their scraggly height adding to the gloom of the grey sky above. The windows of the church were dull and dusty, in need of a cleaning they would never receive.

Maura continued until she was in the middle of the path that ran through the yard, perpendicular to the church itself. Blue stopped behind her and pulled the parchment out of her knapsack. Despite the chill, she settled down onto the ground, adjusting her trousers so they covered her ankles.

“It’s almost time,” Marua murmured. 

Blue just nodded. Despite herself, she couldn’t stop the glimmer of excitement that ran through her. While she may not be able to see or have direct contact with the dead, Blue could still  _ feel _ them here. Their presence was cold, and similar to that creeping feeling of unease that caused hair on the back of the neck to rise and people to glance over their shoulders. It was little wonder that the church had been abandoned shortly after its completion. 

Maura and Blue stood and sat respectively in a comfortable yet tense silence, waiting for the procession to begin.

As soon as her mother straightened her spine, Blue knew the first of the dead had arrived. After a moment, the chill grew stronger and Maura began to call out names, her voice clear in the still air.

Blue had no idea what the dead looked like. Her mother would never tell her. She wondered if they looked the same as they did in life, or if their ghosts mirrored how they died. If that was the case, Blue was sometimes a little glad she couldn’t see them.

“Elizabeth Avarred,” Maura said, breaking Blue out of her slight reverie. She scribbled quickly to catch up as her mother moved on to the next name.

They continued like this for two hours, Maura calling names and Blue scrawling them across the page in a pitiful attempt at being legible. Most of the people in the neighboring villages couldn’t read anyways, so Blue wasn’t overly concerned, despite her mother and Calla’s lectures.

Finally, Maura sagged a bit and turned to face Blue. “I think that’s everyone.”

Something moving in the distance caught Blue’s eye, and she turned her head. Standing at the very edge of the churchyard was a boy who couldn’t have been much more than her age.

“Hey, who are you?” Blue called.

Maura turned to look. “Blue, who are you talking to?”

She pointed towards the boy, who hadn’t moved. “There’s someone over there watching us.”

Maura glanced warily at Blue, then back to where she was pointing. “Blue, you have to get his name.”

There was a beat of silence in the time it took Blue to process that statement.

“But he’s not dead, he can’t be! I can’t  _ see _ them!”

Maura shrugged, a wry half-smile on her face. “The dead work in mysterious ways. But you must get his name, Blue. Before he crosses the yard.”

Blue turned her full attention back to the boy. “He still hasn’t moved.”

“Then go to him, but be careful.”

Slowly, her joints protesting the motion after sitting so long on the cold ground, Blue stood. She took a few cautious steps towards the boy, unwilling to get too close.

“What’s your name?” She asked again, and again there was no response.

Steeling everything inside of herself, Blue marched forward until she was no more than two arm’s lengths from the boy. 

Despite the prickle of fear that she felt at his presence, Blue peered curiously at him.

The first thing that surprised her was how normal he looked. She had expected the ghosts of the dead to be pale or sickly looking, or maybe to look like rotting corpses. But whoever was in front of her looked alive enough that she could hold his hand and they could walk home together.

The second thing she noticed was how handsome he was. Clearly this boy was some sort of nobility. Blue could tell from the fineness of the clothing he was wearing—a deep purple doublet, edged with gold, and brown trousers. On his shoulders was a cloak of something that looked like sable, or perhaps fox fur.

It was also obvious in the way he held himself. Blue could tell he was unsure, but he kept his shoulders back and his chin high, looking like the height of superiority.

Blue hated him. 

A small part of her felt sick that she was looking at someone, someone her age, who was about to die. 

But a bigger part of her that she wasn’t exactly proud of felt vindicated that there was a noble here as well. Many of the names she wrote down were peasants from the villages, families who would suffer bad luck and wouldn’t all survive the next harvest season, or the next winter.

_ They can die just like we can,  _ Blue thought.  _ Good. _

The boy shifted his gaze so he was no longer looking at Blue, but past her. With a small spike of panic, she moved so she was directly back in his line of sight.

“What’s your name?” She demanded.

The boy looked offended, and started walking. Despite her impressions of him, Blue knew she had to get his name. It was what was required of them, and her mother was counting on her.

“Wait!” She cried, and grabbed for the boy’s arm. 

Her hand passed right through, accompanied by an icy chill. When she pulled away in shock, she could see frost crystals on her skin.

But it had the desired effect. The boy stopped, turning to face her, his head cocked slightly to the side. 

Cradling her hand to her chest, Blue tried again. 

“Who are you?” She whispered.

The boy made eye contact with her, his hazel eyes piercing into her. Blue was certain then that he could see all of her secrets, everything she had ever tried to hide or bury within herself. 

“Gansey,” he murmured sadly, before turning around to finish his walk across the churchyard. 

Now that she had his name, Blue let him go. She was too stunned to move, a cool whisper of dread completely unrelated to the night’s chill spreading through her gut.

Blue knew that name. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t recognized him, but she wasn’t used to seeing him out of his normal regalia, or in a setting as mundane as a deserted churchyard.

Gansey could only be referring to Richard Campbell Gansey III: only son of King Richard Campbell Gansey II, and the Prince of Cabeswater.

And of this, Blue was certain: the heir to the throne was going to die.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Blue was woken by the sound of yelling. 

“Absolutely not! Turn around and get out of my house you filthy—“

That was Calla, one of Maura’s best friends, and part of the Fox Way triumvirate. The other psychics all deferred to Maura, Calla, and Persephone’s judgement, particularly when they were in agreement. That was a rare phenomena, but one that Blue seemed to be overhearing now.

Calla was the loudest, but from her room, Blue could make out the angry tones of her mother, and even Persephone. If Persephone was angry enough to be heard, it must be important.

Blue strained her ears until she heard two male voices that she didn’t recognize. She couldn’t tell what they were saying, but they sounded stern.

Her curiosity piqued, Blue slowly got out of bed and crept down the poorly lit hallway until she was listening behind the curtain leading to the front room.

“Absolutely not!” Calla roared again, and Blue winced at whoever was on the receiving end of her wrath. Blue had been there before, and it was never fun.

“You don’t have a choice,” one of the male voices responded. “We either leave here with her, or none of you leave here again.”

“That’s not much of a choice,” Maura hissed. 

Blue wasn’t sure what or who they were talking about, but she felt a sense of cold dread settle into her stomach like lead.

“We can’t fight this,” Persephone said, and she sounded older than Blue had ever heard her before.

“They can’t have her,” Maura spat fiercely.

Even with Blue’s close proximity, she couldn’t hear what Persephone murmured next, but it was met with silence from all parties.

Finally, the second male voice spoke up. “You’re wasting time. We will be back in one hour to collect the girl. She has been permitted to bring what she can carry.”

There was a sniffling sound, and Blue realized with horror that someone was crying.

It didn’t take a psychic to determine the girl they were talking about was Blue. But where did they plan to take her? Who was planning to take her? Why? She didn’t remember doing anything worthy of a guard’s attention recently. 

Angrily, she ripped the curtain aside and stormed into the room, almost stopping short at what she saw. 

“What is going on here?” She demanded in her most adult voice, trying not to show the fear she felt at seeing two kingsguard soldiers standing in her house. The raven crest on their uniforms was unmistakable. The front door to the house was hanging slightly off the hinges, as if it had been forced open.

If the guards were surprised by her sudden appearance, they didn’t show it. 

The taller of the two spoke. “Gather your belongings and we’ll be off.”

“You said we had an hour!” Maura exclaimed angrily, stepping in front of Blue, who was feeling like she may have made a mistake in entering the room. 

The man who spoke raised an eyebrow. “The girl is awake and she is here, and we wouldn’t want you getting any… ideas.”

He said it in a way that made it clear to everyone in the room that the plans Marua had already begun to devise were utterly transparent. 

_ So not the first time these guards have ripped someone away from their family,  _ Blue thought bitterly. She stuck her chin out and stuffed down all of her feelings except anger. 

“And what if I don’t choose to gather my belongings and be off with you?”

The guard let out an audible huff of annoyance. He looked Blue up and down, and Blue suddenly felt every inch over five feet that she lacked. She refused to back down though, and held eye contact with the guard. 

“You don’t have a choice,” he answered with a finality that lacked any remorse. “You either come with us willingly, or we take you unwillingly. I’m sure you’re smart enough to know which one is easier.”

Maura began to protest, but Persephone laid a hand on her arm and she fell into silence. Calla looked ready to commit unspeakable crimes, but she remained silent as well. Their unnatural reticence was unnerving, and Blue wasn’t sure how to react.

She clenched her hands into fists and willed her chin to stop wavering before she replied, “We will leave in a quarter hour after I gather my things.”

The guard who had done the speaking so far looked amused at her false bravado, but nodded. The pair retreated to stand outside, making sure to still block the doorway. 

In an instant, Maura had crossed the room and swept Blue into her arms. “I won’t let them take you,” she growled into Blue’s hair. “They can’t have you!”

Blue looked over her mother’s shoulder and made eye contact with Persephone. The white-haired psychic always looked timeworn beyond her years, but now she looked positively ancient. Blue searched her dark eyes for some sign that she should fight, any sign that this was  _ wrong _ , that Blue didn’t need to be  _ taken _ —but all she saw in Persephone’s gaze was complete certainty that this was the way things were meant to be. 

She loved her mother more than anything, and she loved Calla, but she didn’t trust them to look at a situation and be unbiased about the path that needed to be followed.

Blue trusted Persephone. 

“Mom, it’s going to be alright,” Blue said, prying herself from her mother’s grasp. In doing so, Blue could feel her heart being pried from her chest, but she kept her face as neutral as possible. 

It suddenly struck Blue that she wasn’t even sure why the guards were here for her. She cleared her throat slightly to cover the wail that wanted to escape. 

“Did they say what they were here for? Why me?”

Persephone quickly spoke up as both Maura and Calla opened their mouths, Calla looking murderous and Marua looking terrified. 

“They’ve come for you, Blue, because you were the one that wrote the list in the village that marks Prince Gansey for death. You and your mother were the only two there. No one knew you were the one that actually identified him, but it’s no matter. The entire village knows that you write that list every year and that you pin it up.”

Suddenly, nothing was alright. Blue spluttered, “But we have to make that list! They  _ require _ us to! Everyone dies eventually, how can they pin that on me?”

Persephone smiled sadly. “Those with power do as they please. The monarchy has decided that we’ve threatened the young Prince, and they’re taking you away. As retaliation I expect, probably to keep us in line.” Her face softened. “It’s no secret that your mother loves you very much and will do just about anything for you.”

“So what, they’re here because they think we’re going to try and  _ kill Gansey _ ?”

Maura, Calla, and Persephone all shushed her as Maura looked around worriedly. 

“Blue, don’t say that. They already suspect us of treason against the crown,” Calla hissed.

Blue lowered her voice, but her anger was still apparent. “Well we aren’t! That’s absurd!”

Persephone reached out and placed a hand on her arm. “It is. You know that, I know that, everyone in this house knows that.  But,” she looked around the room, making eye contact with everyone, “there are some battles that can’t be won.”

“You’re saying we should just give up and let them have her?” Maura challenged, voice low.

It was Calla who answered. “Yes."

With that one word, all of the fight left Maura, and she shrunk before Blue’s eyes. If Calla, brave, strong, fiery Calla, was conceding the fight then it must be over. 

It took all of the effort Blue felt she had left, but she nodded. “I had better start packing then.”

No sooner had the words passed her lips than the guards returned back through the door, the ravens on their chests mocking her. 

“Your time is up,” the taller one said. 

Blue felt a flare of panic, the first true fear that she’d felt. “I haven’t packed yet!”

Both guards shrugged, and the same one answered, “We granted your request for a quarter hour. We’re not inclined to cede to any more entreaties.”

The shorter one who hadn’t done any of the talking reached forward and grabbed her arm. Blue cried out at his grip, and she could feel her mother tense beside her.

He dragged her out of the door and shoved her up onto the back of a dark bay horse. The taller soldier mounted behind her, trapping her inside of his armored arms. 

The three psychics had followed them out the door silently, but as the horses started off, Blue could hear her mother wailing. She squeezed her eyes shut, determined not to cry.

She was almost successful.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Depending on where you began the story, it was a story about a boy who would be king. _

 

Prince Richard Campbell Gansey III had been groomed his entire life to rule. As the only son and heir to the throne, his days were spent reading and learning the ways of a kingdom, of how to be a proper king. 

The kingdom of Cabeswater had tenuous relationships with its bordering nations, held together by a net of tightly woven trade deals and alliances put in place by King Richard Campbell Gansey II. Cabeswater lacked a strong military presence, so these treaties were upheld through King Gansey’s preferred weapon—words. 

Rousing speeches were the King’s favorite sword, and his well-timed smiles his armor. They served him well in every political battle he entered, and the small kingdom of Cabeswater often came away with the lion’s share of any deal.

Under the rule of Richard II, Cabeswater flourished beyond what anyone thought possible. The people were well fed and the coffers were full.

It was this legacy that the youngest Gansey had to live up to. 

 

—  — — 

 

Gansey sucked in a deep breath, raising his hand to knock. A prince wasn’t supposed to be nervous — he was supposed to be confident and sure of himself at all times, even when he didn't know what was going on. Especially when he didn’t know what was going on.

And really, he was more curious than anything. Gansey had heard that she threw a terrific fit when the guards tried to bring her to her room, and his fascination with what his mother referred to as ‘morbid fixations’ and what his father called ‘a waste of time’ left him with a burning desire to meet the girl who had foretold his death.

But he was still human enough to feel a slight tingle of fear. 

He knocked sharply on the heavy oak door, three times, and took half a step back. When nothing happened, he leaned forward to knock again as the door swung in violently. In front of him stood a girl looking as ferocious as any of the wild beasts he’d heard so much about in his father’s tales. 

Her eyes widened in surprise for a moment before the anger came back in full force. “Can I help you?” The way she said it was like a challenge.

Gansey held out his hand. “I am—”

“I know who you are,” the girl said flatly, pointedly ignoring Gansey’s outstretched hand. After a moment, he lowered it.

“I have heard a lot about you,” Gansey started, “and I thought I should come introduce myself. In person. I wanted to meet you and to look after your status.”

Gansey had thought the girl was mad before, but somehow, impossibly, she looked more angry now. “Well thank you so much for that,  _ Prince Richard _ ,” she spat. “But I’m just fine being a prisoner up here, thank you.”

“I go by Gansey,” Gansey said. She remained silent. “What’s your name?”

Gansey could feel the heat of her glare. How did it not burn her up inside? He frowned. “You’re living here now, so I would like to at least know your name. To be polite if nothing else. I thought we could be friends.”

He wanted to comment on the fact that she wasn’t a prisoner here, but he knew better than anyone that the palace walls might as well have been made from iron bars.

“Friends.” The girl echoed. It wasn’t a question.

Undeterred, Gansey nodded. “Friends. Or at least on speaking terms. It gets awfully lonely here sometimes, especially when Helen is busy attending whatever latest function with Mother.” He didn’t mention Noah or Adam. Or Ronan. 

The girl looked him up and down, her anger turning into something Gansey couldn’t quite place, although it looked slightly less dangerous.

“Blue,” she said after a moment, pushing the door open wider and stepping back into her room.

“What’s blue?” Gansey asked, confused.

She looked at him, one eyebrow raised in disdain. “That’s my name."

“Oh,” Gansey said. “That’s a lovely name,” he added as an afterthought.

Blue snorted but remained standing in front of him, uncertain. Now that her anger was gone, or at least put away, Gansey noted how short she really was. He was at least a head taller than her, possibly two. Her anger had made her look larger than life. 

He also noted that she was still in her dusty travelling clothes, and he could see the dirt on her face and in her hair. He frowned again.

“The servants were supposed to come with a change of clothing, and help you bathe. Did they not come?”

Instantly, her anger came roaring back to life. “I do not need help  _ bathing _ ,” she seethed. 

Gansey tilted his head to the side. “Your current state would say otherwise.”

“Get out of my room,” she snapped, and Gansey felt himself backing up. He was barely over the threshold, but he was suddenly very aware of every inch he was into her domain. 

He held up his hands in what he hoped was a placating manner, marveling at just how fearsome this Blue was. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Well, you did.”

Gansey put a finger up to his bottom lip, a habit his mother was always trying to scold out of him. “I just have one question for you,” he asked.

“And why should I answer?” Blue challenged. 

“I am the Crown Prince,” Gansey said. He didn’t say it to flaunt it; it was simply fact to him. Blue’s scowl deepend. 

“You really don’t have to,” Gansey shrugged. “But I would like it if you did.” When she remained silent, he continued, “Is it true that you saw my death? Am I going to die within the year?”

Blue’s face softened a fraction. “I saw you on St. Mark’s Day. In the churchyard. Everyone in the churchyard dies the same year.” She sounded almost apologetic.

Gansey nodded absentmindedly. He knew about St. Mark’s Day of course, and he knew what to expect. But he needed to hear it confirmed from the source. Rumors flew around Cabeswater as quickly as they were created, and couldn’t always be trusted. 

After a moment, he nodded. “Thank you,” he said, turning to leave. 

“Wait,” Blue said as he started moving away. 

Gansey stopped and turned back towards her. “Yes?”

She looked slightly sheepish. “I sent the… servants away earlier, but how do I get them back? I haven’t eaten since I got here.”

“That was over a day ago,” Gansey said in surprise. Blue stood defiantly in the doorway, arms crossed. Gansey got the sense that she wasn’t the kidding sort. “Well come on, I‘ll show you the way to the kitchens,” he said, starting down the hallway. He heard a thump as the door closed and her footsteps as she caught up with him. 

“Don’t you have better things to be doing right now?”

He looked down at her. “Not really,” he mused.

It was true, technically. He was fascinated by Blue’s presence and bored of all of the skills his father had commanded him to learn, and Ronan was off on some trip with his father. Since it was the middle of the day, Noah would be with the soldiers, and Adam would be… off doing whatever it was Adam did during the days when he wasn’t around. Which left walking Blue to the kitchens as the best current use of his time. 

They made the rest of their way to the kitchen in relative silence. Gansey directed Blue to a low bench near the stone wall and she sat, while he selected some food from the cupboards. 

He wasn’t sure what she liked to eat, but he felt safe choosing some bread, which judging by the smell had been pulled out of the oven only shortly before, and hard cheese to go with it. As an afterthought, he grabbed a bowl of berries as well.

He set it down on the table behind Blue. She was staring at him.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Gansey asked, gesturing at the food, a signal for her to start eating.

“Don’t you have  _ servants _ who can do that for you?” Her voice had a dangerous edge to it that Gansey already recognized. Her anger was sharper than Ronan’s, and flared to life more quickly, but Gansey recognized all of the signs.

He sighed. Why did every conversation with this small girl feel like a battle he wasn’t equipped to win? Gansey was starting to regret his earlier curiosity. “Yes, but I prefer to do it myself.” 

Blue narrowed her eyes at him but remained silent.

Gansey reached his hand into the bowl and popped a handful of berries into his mouth. The regret of his curiosity was short lived, and he could already feel it prickling the back of his mind again, more pleasant than an itch but just as persistent. 

“So I’m going to die,” he started, as casually as if he was discussing the weather. “Do you know how?”

Blue looked at him. “The ghosts of the churchyard don’t reveal how they got there. Only that they are.”

Gansey nodded, slicing a piece of cheese and placing it on a piece of bread. “Aren’t you psychic though? Surely if you could see that, you’ve seen more about me.”

“Not everything revolves around you,” Blue said coldly. 

Gansey tilted his head, considering that. “You’re right,” he said. “Have you, or any of the other Psychics, seen anything about me?”

Blue was silent for a moment. “No.”

“Can you?”

The question seemed to surprise her. He watched as she finally shifted her attention to the food, selecting a blueberry from the dish with a strange look on her face. Moments after she put it in her mouth, her eyes lit up with delight, the first positive emotion Gansey had seen from her. It only lasted a moment before her guard was back up. 

“I could,” she replied after a long pause. “But I won’t.”

Gansey frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t feel like it!” Blue snapped. 

“I could make you,” Gansey said, and again, it wasn’t a threat or even a promise. It was just a statement of the truth.

Blue’s eyes narrowed back into slits. “Will you?”

Gansey shook his head. “No.” And it was true, he wouldn’t. He was never comfortable with using his status to get his way like his father, or even Helen. 

“Why don’t you wear a sword?” Blue asked suddenly. “All princes are supposed to have swords.”

Now, it was Gansey’s turn to be surprised. “I’ve never been any good with one, much to my father’s displeasure. I’ve never acquired a taste for killing.”

He did his best to leave his face blank, and to not remember the grueling hours of training and practice his father had forced him into before he gave up. That was before the Lynches anyways.

Gansey looked up to see Blue searching his face, as if looking for some deception. 

“Does this mean it’s my turn to ask a question?” He asked. Blue’s only response was to eat another handful of blueberries, so Gansey took that as a yes. “Is there any way to stop me from dying?”

Blue looked up at him, and Gansey could see the pity mingling with the omnipresent annoyance. “Not that I know of.”

Gansey nodded. He had already known the answer to that question, but again, he needed to hear it confirmed. “It’s your turn.”

There was a long silence as Blue stared down at the table. “Am I ever going to go home?” She asked in a small voice. 

Gansey hesitated. He was the only heir to the crown, and knowing his father, Blue’s position was unlikely to change. It was his turn to look at her with a slight pity. 

“I’m sorry.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Gansey, what the absolute  _ hell _ ?”

Gansey was sitting on his bed, watching Ronan pace around the room. His raven, Ronan’s ever-present shadow, Chainsaw, flapped noisily off of his shoulder and landed on one of the bedposts, looking disgruntled. 

“When were you planning to tell me? Were you ever planning to tell me?” He seethed. Gansey really shouldn’t have been surprised by Blue’s anger earlier that week. With Ronan around so often, the force of someone else’s anger felt like an unwelcome second skin to Gansey.

He frowned from his place on the bed. “Telling you would have only served to upset you.”

At that, Ronan stopped pacing. “I had to find out from some stranger! In  _ Henrietta _ !” He spat the name like it was bitter in his mouth. Chainsaw let out a  _ kerah! _ that sounded just as angry as Ronan.

Henrietta was one of the small villages on the outskirts of Cabeswater, and not known for having the most reputable residents. It seemed that the guards were always being sent out to the village for some crime or another. 

“You really should have told us,” Noah said from where he was lounging in one of the chairs, seemingly unbothered by boy or raven. He had been excused from training early. He hadn’t told Gansey why, because Gansey already knew.

His father had been furious that he had been going to see Blue.

_ “That witch has proclaimed your death! She as good as promised the kingdom that she’s going to kill you, and in doing so she has threatened us all!” _

_ “The Psychics have long been our allies, and if that’s the case, father, why don’t you just kill her?” Gansey had challenged, hoping his father wouldn’t break pattern and actually listen to one of his suggestions. _

_ His father had frowned. “She’s still more use to us alive than dead.” _

And with that, the conversation had ended, Gansey left with a bad taste in his mouth and his own personal guard to track his every move and report back to the king.  __

“I’m sorry,” Gansey said, and it was sincere. He had wanted to tell Ronan, and Noah and Adam, but deep down, Gansey was selfish, and perhaps he truly was a coward. He couldn’t bear the thought of having to tell his only friends of his impending doom. His mind hadn’t been able to find the words. It was easier for them to find out on their own.

_ But easier for who?  _ His mind whispered at him.

“Well we’re going to figure out how to stop it,” Ronan said from across the room where he had resumed his pacing. “I’ll dream you a solution. I can fix this!”

Noah sighed. “Ronan, the dead don’t dream. It won’t matter.”

Gansey shook his head. “Blue said it cannot be undone.”

Ronan raise his lips in a mock snarl. “And what does that witch know?”

“Ronan,” Noah warned from where he was sitting. 

While Ronan wasn’t psychic, he was… something. Something not normal. And Adam was a magician, a powerful one at that. ‘Witch’ wasn’t an insult to be taken lightly, especially when so many of them possessed unnatural powers themselves.

Gansey took advantage of Ronan’s momentary lapse into silence. “I have nothing against the Psychics. And Blue isn’t to blame, despite what my father may think. She has no more control over who she sees on St. Mark’s Day than I do.”

“And she said there’s no way to change it?” Noah asked again.

“No,” Gansey replied as Ronan let out a hiss of frustration.

“And you just believe that?” Ronan countered. “She doesn’t know about me.”

Gansey paused, putting a finger against his lips. “Blue has no reason to lie; why should she? If there was a way to prevent my death, it would only be of benefit for her to tell me. It would be the one thing that could save her life.”

“You’re awfully cavalier about this, Gansey,” Noah commented. 

“Everyone has to die sometime,” he murmured. The truth was, he  _ was _ bothered by this whole scenario, but probably not for the reasons he should have been. “I don’t want to die yet, but then again, most people don’t really get a choice in the matter.”

Noah sighed, before standing up to stretch. “It’s high noon now, I’ll be late for my report if I wait any longer.”

Despite everything, Gansey smiled. “And what exactly have I been up to today?”

Noah made an exaggerated show of thinking deeply, stroking his chin. “I’ll tell them that you spent the day laying in bed, sulking. I even saw you shed a few tears,” he smirked. “You were alone,” he added as an afterthought.

Gansey nodded. “Thank you, Noah.”

Noah nodded with a slight bow that he was never quite able to rid himself of, no matter how close he and Gansey got. He left, closing the door firmly behind him.

“Ronan, would you quit pacing and come here,” Gansey finally said, once the silence of Noah’s departure had become too heavy. 

Ronan stopped and stared at him, his anger palpable in the air. But after a time, he yielded as Gansey knew he would, and made his way over to the bed. 

He threw himself down onto it, just out of Gansey’s reach. Because that was how Ronan did things: with an absence of thought and an excess of emotion he tried his best to keep hidden. 

He heard Chainsaw let out a hiss as she flapped down to a dresser.

“I am sorry,” Gansey said. “I know it wasn’t fair of me, I know I—”

“It doesn’t matter what’s fair. You’re the Crown Prince, you can do whatever you want.” 

Gansey hid his wince, determined not to let Ronan see how deep those words truly cut. “Telling you wouldn’t have changed anything. It can’t.”

Finally, Ronan turned his gaze towards Gansey, and it was sharp enough to cut himself on. “You’re not going to die.”

Gansey sighed and stretched an arm out towards Ronan, but Ronan jerked back. “Ronan…”

But Ronan was back on his feet, well outside of Gansey’s reach. “You should have told me,” he said, quietly. The anger was gone, replaced by a melancholy sadness.

The sadness was worse.

Gansey slowly stood and walked over to him, touching Ronan’s shoulder lightly. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t want you to die,” Ronan said, his back still towards Gansey.

“I don’t want to die,” Gansey said simply. 

Ronan turned around then. “We are going to find a way to stop this.” But when he said it, it sounded more like a question.

“Perhaps I will just sit in my room and sulk for the next year. I don’t think anyone has ever died from sulking, or you would have been the first victim.” He said it lightly, and it had the desired effect.

Ronan laughed in surprise. “Dream on.”

Gansey smirked. “You’re the dreamer in this relationship.”

“Is that was this is?” Ronan asked, lifting an eyebrow. 

“I, uh… I mean…” Gansey stammered. 

Now it was Ronan’s turn to smirk. “Close your mouth, Prince Gansey. You look like a fish. On second thought…”

He trailed off as he leaned in to kiss Gansey lightly on the lips. “You’re not going to die,” he said again as he gathered his raven and left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Gansey stood, frozen in place. “No, I guess I won’t,” he finally said to his now empty room.

He was still sitting on his bed, slightly stunned, when a knock came hours later. 

“Enter.”

The door opened, and Adam stepped inside. “Sire,” he bowed. 

“Adam,” Gansey sighed. “You know you don’t have to do that.”

“My apologies,” Adam said. “Sire,” he tacked on quickly.

Gansey knew this was a fight he wasn’t likely to win any time soon, so he didn’t comment on it again. He knew Adam had been brought up to respect authority—although Gansey wasn’t sure that respect wasn’t just fear. Once Adam reacclimated to his presence, the formalities tended to fade.  

“How are you, Adam?” Gansey could tell he was anxious about something. Adam was often anxious about a great number of things, but you would never know. He hid his emotions better than anyone Gansey had ever met, and with the amount of nobility he had been forced to dine with and play the role of a happy prince, that was no small feat. 

Now, he could feel the tension rolling off of Adam in waves, which meant that something was very wrong. From experience, Gansey knew he had to tread carefully.   
  
“I’m fine,” Adam said, “but I don’t think you are.”   


For a moment, Gansey thought he was talking about his kiss with Ronan. It wasn’t the first time they had kissed, and it wasn’t the first time Ronan had kissed him. But it was the first time Ronan had kissed him since he found out Gansey was going to die, and somehow that felt different.

It was a moment before Gansey finally realized that Adam probably meant the foretelling of his death. Was he not fine?

Gansey hadn’t lied to Ronan, he didn’t want to die. But he wasn’t sure that he saw the good in worrying about something that was guaranteed to happen. If he really did have less than a year left, he didn’t want to spend it worrying and trying to find ways to cheat his destiny. 

If he was fated to die, then Gansey would die. There was no way around that.

“I’m fine,” he told Adam after a silence that had stretched on slightly too long. 

Adam looked unconvinced. But he pulled two small vials out of his pocket anyways and set them on Gansey’s bedside table. 

The clear one was familiar to Gansey. Adam had been preparing draughts to help him sleep since his arrival in Cabeswater, but the second vial was new. It had a slightly purplish tint to it and looked unlike anything Gansey had seen before.

“What is this?”

“There’s no need to be suspicious, it’s just an elderberry tincture. To help support your immune system,” Adam replied stiffly.

Gansey smiled. “You asking me not to be suspicious is more suspicious than the vial.” When Adam frowned instead of laughing at the joke, Gansey continued, “Thank you Adam, that was thoughtful of you.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t do it for you,” Adam said.

“Oh?” Gansey lifted an eyebrow.

Adam smirked. “You have no idea how difficult it would be to live with Ronan if you weren’t around.”

Gansey did his best not to blush, but he could feel the heat in his cheeks anyways. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s difficult to live with now.”

At that, Adam did laugh and the spell was broken. He moved from the doorway where he had retreated to settle on the edge of Gansey’s bed.

“What’s your opinion on all of this?” Gansey asked as soon as Adam no longer looked like a flight risk. 

Adam had came to Cabeswater to take over for the old Physician, and he was an extremely talented healer. But that wasn’t his primary talent, at least as far as Gansey was concerned. Beside being one of the best healers in Cabeswater’s memory, Adam was a magician with the Gift. 

The Gift, a vast assortment of different magics, wasn’t exactly outlawed in Cabeswater. Far too many things relied on magic for that. Gansey supposed Blue and the other Psychics were a perfect example. They were allowed to go about their lives and practice their abilities, and even encouraged to do so to make life easier for others, until those abilities were deemed a threat. And it didn’t usually take declaring the death of the Crown Prince to be seen as a threat.

Because of this, Adam kept mostly to himself, and all of his healing was done sans magic unless it was specifically requested from him. Or if it was requested by someone other than Gansey. Adam had refused to use his Gift on Gansey in the past a multitude of times, much to Gansey’s dismay.

“St. Mark’s Day shows what must happen,” was all Adam said in response.

Gansey, used to slightly cryptic responses from Adam, nodded. “So this elderberry potion is useless then.”

“It’s not a potion; there’s nothing magic about it,” Adam grumbled. “Just drink it.”

Gansey grabbed the bottle off of his nightstand, uncorked it, and drank it all in one go. It had a bitter taste, and Gansey immediately regretted his decision. “Done.”

He must have made some sort of face, because Adam laughed again as he stood. “I really should be going, sire, but it was good to see you.”

“Thank you again Adam,” Gansey said to cover the slight pang of disappointment he felt that Adam was leaving. Maybe he could convince his personal escort to bring him Ronan. He wasn’t afraid of death, but he wasn’t pleased with the concept of being left alone either.

He was spared the trouble as, only moments after Adam’s departure, Ronan threw open the door to his room, panting slightly.

“Ronan? What’s going on?”


	5. Chapter 5

_Depending on where you began the story, it was a story about a merchant’s son._

Ronan Lynch was a boy with a big heart and a bigger imagination. Nothing was too absurd; nothing too impossible. Perhaps that was because Ronan Lynch himself was impossible. 

In a land that bred magic and psychics and healing Gifts, nothing about Ronan Lynch should have been unusual. But with the exception of Niall Lynch, his father, Ronan was completely one of a kind. By day, he was an ordinary boy, only made exceptional by his impressive anger. 

But at night, magic came to life in his dreams. 

And it was this magic, along with his father’s desire for glory, that had irrevocably linked his destiny with Richard Gansey III, Crown Prince of Cabeswater. 

As a young man, Niall had presented his powers to King Richard, hoping to be of service to the Crown, and to himself. Since then, he had become a trusted advisor of the King’s court: dreaming creatures, inventing poisons, and minting money as appropriate. Ronan knew his father was more responsible for the kingdom’s success than King Richard would ever be. 

Some day, he would do the same for his Richard; dreaming solutions to any problem presented. As a child, Ronan had resented his father making this decision for him. 

As he grew older, and closer to Gansey, Ronan couldn’t feel anything but gratitude.

— — —

Gansey was staring at Ronan, waiting for an answer.

Ronan opened his mouth, took a shuddering breath, and closed it again. At some point, Gansey had gotten up from his desk and was now standing in front of Ronan. 

“Ronan?” Gansey’s voice was laced with concern strong enough for Ronan to hear over the buzzing in his ears. Chainsaw shifted on his shoulder at Gansey’s voice, bringing Ronan back to the present moment.

“He’s dead,” Ronan finally said.

“Who’s dead?” Gansey asked, speaking softly, like he was speaking to an injured animal.

Ronan lifted his gaze to meet Gansey’s. “My father.”

Gansey’s face dropped for a single moment before returning to its collected mask. “Ronan, I’m so sorry,” he said, stretching a hand out to Ronan. 

But Ronan took a step back as Chainsaw ruffled her feathers to match his anxiety. He still had more to say and wasn’t sure how he was feeling about any of it. “It was a botched assassination attempt. On the King.” Gansey’s mask slipped entirely then, leaving a mingled mixture of surprise and fear. 

“He was caught after—after my father... before... He’s from Laumonier.”

“Greenmantle,” Gansey breathed. “And the assassin?”

Even in this state, Ronan understood the question and nodded. “It was the Gray Man. He’s dead now,” he added sharply.

The Gray Man was renowned as Greenmantle’s best soldier, although assassin was probably a more fitting description. Many rival kingdoms had lost men to the Gray Man, but no one was ever able to prove it, or discover the identity of the mysterious murderer. 

Gansey took a deep breath. “King Greenmantle won’t be happy about this,” he mused.

It took Ronan’s mind a moment to catch up with the words. He was still picturing the blood on the flagstones, how sharp the contrast of the red was against the faded gray floor. “He’s not the one you need to look out for. It’s the Queen who runs that kingdom,” he managed to say.

“Queen Piper?” Gansey asked surprised. Ronan nodded dully. “I suppose that makes sense…”

Ronan tuned out whatever it was Gansey said next, letting the sound of Gansey’s voice wash over his raw nerves. He knew his father was going to die at some point, everyone did. But he hadn’t expected it to be this soon—or this brutal. It was pathetically messy as far as assassinations went, which was probably to be expected when said assassinations were interrupted. 

He was jolted out of his thoughts when Gansey touched his cheek lightly. It was clear from the look on Gansey’s face that he had been trying to get Ronan’s attention for a while. 

Gansey’s hazel gaze was burning into him, and finally Ronan’s focus came back to the present. 

“Right, sorry, what?” He asked, shaking his head slightly.

Gansey frowned, but repeated his question. “Are you okay?”

Instead of answering, Ronan held out an arm for Chainsaw. He didn’t remember her leaving his shoulder, but she must have at some point. She flapped over noisily and landed on his arm, nipping at his ear affectionately. Ronan laughed, and even to his own ears he knew it sounded too hollow. 

“I guess this means I’m advisor to the king now,” he said instead of answering Gansey’s original question.

Gansey gave him a look that clearly said he knew what Ronan was up to, but was allowing the subject change anyways.

“Unless my father suddenly decides he can handle a kingdom on his own,” Gansey muttered. 

King Richard was good with words, and Ronan had no doubt that he _could_ handle a kingdom on his own. He could talk armies to their knees, maidens into heartbreak, or the scales off of a dragon. But he had grown accustomed to having Niall Lynch’s help in matters of the state, and as a result had grown lazy and complacent as a ruler. 

Why bother planning and scheming and deceiving an enemy when you can have someone else dream you the solution?

Ronan had no desire to work for King Richard II. But with his father gone, he knew he wouldn’t have a say in the matter. Even he had enough self-preservation to know how poorly that would end. 

He sighed and stepped forward. Gansey’s arms immediately snaked around him, and he let himself relax into the embrace for just a moment. He would let himself have this.

Ronan turned his face into Gansey’s neck and felt Gansey shiver as he placed to light kisses there. He saw the mask on his face slip for just a moment before it snapped back into place. Normally, Ronan delighted in being the one to break the facade that the young prince wore as armor, but there was no joy in it this time. 

He figured it would be a long while before he felt anything akin to joy again. 

There was a knock on the door, and Ronan jerked back.

“Who is it?” Gansey called, clearly irritated. 

“It’s me,” came the muffled reply. “Adam.”

Gansey pulled the door open and let Adam into the room. He was out of breath and his face was red, like he had been running.

“I came as soon as I could,” he panted. “Ronan, I’m so sorry.” 

Ronan didn’t trust his voice so he just nodded.

“You heard already?”

Adam nodded towards Gansey. “I was already in the castle. I have to walk by the throne room on my way out, and the guards stopped me to ask if I had anything on me at the moment that could help. I’m not sure why they asked, I can’t raise the dead—” 

He stopped abruptly, realizing he was talking about Ronan’s father. 

“It won’t be long until word of this gets out to Cabeswater, and beyond, but I’m glad it’s not there yet,” Gansey said, only partially filling the awkward silence. 

“Why are you still here?” Adam asked. “Surely the King would want to speak with you, Gansey, and Ronan too.”

“My father is still convinced that keeping me locked in my room is the best way to keep me alive, and out of his way. I doubt him or my mother are eager to summon me to a room where—ah, to summon me,” Gansey answered. “As for Ronan… it probably won’t be long now before my father wishes to see him, yes.” 

Ronan expected to feel something, anything, but there was nothing. It felt as if he was hearing this entire conversation from outside of himself. 

“Quickly then,” Adam said, mostly to himself.

“Quickly what?” Gansey asked. It was clear Adam had some sort of plan, but for what, neither Ronan nor Gansey were sure.

He turned to Gansey. “This isn’t a sure thing. But I’ve gone over it from every angle I can think of, and this is our best plan.”

Ronan didn’t doubt it. If Adam was here to present a solution to something, it was because he calculated the risks against the outcome and decided it weighed heavily in his favor, and then ran those calculations again. Adam wasn’t someone to do anything he wasn’t sure of.

“What do you know about the Old Kings?” Adam asked.

Gansey lifted an eyebrow. “The old kings. Like, Arthur and Uther?”

Adam shrugged. “More like Glendower, but yes.”

“Glendower,” Gansey repeated, and the word sounded at home coming from his lips.

Adam nodded, his eyes lighting up in the way they did when he knew he was onto something. “He was one of the first Old Kings. He started as Prince of Wales, and led them in a revolt—well, the history isn’t really important.” 

Gansey made a noise of indignation at that, but Adam continued, “The important bit that’s relevant to us is the fact that he disappeared shortly before his death. Or his alleged death. Legend has it that Glendower never died—that his body and mind were preserved by his own magicians, and that he is still out there. Hidden and sleeping.”

Ronan felt his irritation spark. “And how does an old king who should be dead help us?” He interrupted.

Adam gave him a look. “That fact alone doesn’t. But if you’d let me finish, the rest of the legend claims that whoever can find and wake Glendower will receive his favor, and his powers are rumored to be limitless. Meaning, the power of life and death, or the power to break curses, wouldn’t be beyond his reach.”

Ronan snorted. “You think we’re going to save Gansey by finding some dead king’s bones? Adam, I never took you for the fanciful type.”

The word impossible had never meant anything to Ronan—up until the death of Niall Lynch. Chainsaw let out a _kerah_ matching Ronan’s displeased tone, and Adam frowned at them both. 

“It’s not fanciful—”

“Adam. My father is dead and Gansey is going to die and finding some dead used-to-be king isn’t going to change either of those things! Besides, the world is a huge place. How would we even find him? We have less than a year now!” Ronan knew his voice was too loud, but he couldn’t remember how to adjust his own volume. That was a thing people could do, right?

If Ronan’s tone got to him, Adam didn’t let it show. Instead, he allowed himself a small grin. “Maybe not on our own. But we have something now that I think you’re forgetting about. Or, more accurately, someone. Someone else who has the Gift.”

Ronan opened his mouth to retort again, but Gansey beat him too it.

“Adam, you genius!”

Startled, Ronan looked over at Gansey. “You can’t seriously think this is going to work.”

“I don’t think, I _know_ this will work! With Blue’s help, and Adam on our side, and your talents on top of all of that? Noah’s in line for the Captain of the Guard position, so I’m sure he has the support of the majority of the soldiers. There’s no way this won’t work!”

Ronan recognized the slight mania in Gansey’s voice that meant he was taking this seriously, and was also excited about it. He looked between Adam and Gansey, who were both grinning at each other. 

“You can’t both be serious!” He said, exasperated. “Listen, if _I_ have to be the one here with common sense, this won’t end well. That’s just it, this isn’t going to end well. Gansey’s going to get his hopes up while we go on this suicidal quest. And we all have things to do here! The King isn’t going to let me out of his sight often starting sometime very soon. Blue is a prisoner, and how do we even know she’ll help us? Adam has duties, and you said yourself that Noah is trying to become Captain, so he won’t have time to sneak off.”

Gansey said, “Who said anything about sneaking?” at the same time Adam challenged, “Wouldn’t you try anything for Gansey?”

Overwhelmed, Ronan sank back onto Gansey’s bed. “Of course I would,” he said, glaring at Adam. 

That wasn’t a lie. Ronan knew he would do anything for Gansey. If Gansey wanted to go through with this, Ronan would be at his side every step of the way any second he could get away from the king. He said he didn’t want to get Gansey’s hopes up, but the ugly truth was that Ronan didn’t want to get his own hopes up.

With his father gone, Gansey was all he had left. 

Just then, a knock sounded the wooden door, and it opened without waiting for an invitation.

“Sorry sire,” Noah said from the doorway. “Ronan’s presence is requested by order of the King.”

Ronan looked to Gansey, meeting his gaze. “And so it begins.”

He stood, and Chainsaw fluttered down onto his shoulder, seeming to understand it was time to leave. 

“Ronan?” Gansey asked.

It was just one word, but Ronan could read the words left unsaid.

He nodded. “You know I’m in.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. This story will have 10 chapters (I think) and I currently have 8 of them written, so I'll be updating regularly. I'll be updating the tags as/if I need to as well. Find me on tumblr @richardcampbells


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